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Ever since a photograph of an angel made the news, people have been camping outside the churches of the city, waiting for their own miracles. To keep a low profile, Michael has kept Angel under house arrest. With the absence of the cherubim, and the remaining angels too busy (or lazy) to help, Angel has been too distracted to worry about the fact there are two Princes of Darkness in New Orleans. That is, until Ty, the Nephilim who has yet to earn her trust provides her with information that could lead to the end of Asmodeus.

When tragedy strikes, Angel has her hands full trying not to let the convent descend into chaos. The list of things Angel must accomplish keeps getting longer, and as each item grows more important, so too does the urgency at which it must be completed. With her list of allies constantly changing, can Angel remove the evil from New Orleans while above all else, keep Joshua safe?

This particular section of the port consisted of rows upon rows of stacked shipping containers in front of several long warehouses, belonging to A. R. International. Opposite was the port itself, only one enormous ship docked at the far end, and a handful of boats dotting the water behind. Aside from the not so pleasant smell of the water, combined with the lingering traces of diesel, the area smelled strongly of coffee: The Port of New Orleans was actually the country’s major coffee handling port.

Finally, Michael broke the silence. “This may go quicker if we split up.” I looked up at him in surprise. “You stay on this side,” he said, indicating to the warehouses beside me, half hidden by the long freight trains, parked for the night. “I will take the area by the water.”

I couldn’t say I blamed him for not wanting to be with me right now. I nodded my agreement and stepped out from behind one of the containers. To avoid the sharp ballast, I followed the natural path alongside the train tracks so shiny they glinted in the few security lights which were dotted around. I continued in silence, scanning the area, catching Michael’s silhouette every so often as we both crossed a gap between the containers.

We had gotten to the end of the end of the shipping company’s land and found nothing. I stared down along the tracks spotting a light in the distance, but nothing else. Ty had been right about the location and the name, but what was to say he was right about something going on here? Tonight.

“Angel, I see nothing,” Michael said, matching my thoughts.

“No,” I agreed. “Me neither.” I rubbed at my neck and looked back at the next shipping yard. “Maybe my information was wrong? Maybe the timing was wrong.” I kicked at a stone and turned, heading back in the direction we had come from. Michael remained silent, but I could see his figure walking back from the other side of the containers. Great: he was ignoring me.

I hadn’t gone far before I spotted something. Something that certainly hadn’t been there when I’d walked this way not that long ago. “Am I hallucinating?” I asked myself. In the middle of one of the tracks, between two sleepers, protruding from jagged rocks was a sword. It was sticking out enough to be seen, and probably enough that it would get knocked over by a train should one pass over it – evidently, a train hadn’t been down this way in a while.

I glanced up and down the tracks. It was deserted. I made my way over, sticking to the correct side of the tracks. “Where the hell did you come from?” I muttered as I stared suspiciously at it. As I got closer, I realized the black blade belonged to an angelic sword, the hilt mirroring the black one in my boot. “Are you missing a sword?” I asked Michael, wishing I had better night vision as I tried to find its owner – someone had to have put it there.

“Only the ones taken by the cherubim, I believe,” Michael responded. “Why?”

“Because there’s one in the middle of the tracks, and it wasn’t there before,” I responded, ready to step over the steel rail. Before I could, Michael was beside me.

“Don’t!” he bellowed at me, stopping me in my tracks.

I lowered my foot and turned to him, my eyebrows arched. “I don’t think it will make me the king of England,” I told him.

“Stay back,” Michael instructed me.

I was about to move away when a blur shot past me, knocking me face first to the ground – I only just managed to put my hands out to stop me face-planting. I rolled over, unable to stop myself from crying out in pain as the sharp ballast bit into my bare skin, the large chunks of sharp stone drawing blood.

When I looked back to Michael, he was between the tracks, in front of the sword, on his knees and doubled over. I blinked, trying to work out how he had gotten in there when I noticed the man stood over him, obscured by the shadows. I didn’t recognize him. He looked like a tall, white male, who, was possibly in his mid-fifties – certainly not young enough to be moving as fast as he had. Given the fact that he had managed to get the jump on both Michael and myself, he had to be one of the Fallen.

“As far as trespassers go, you’re the last person I ever expected here,” the man said, looking genuinely surprised to see Michael there. His expression turned smug. “I’ve been waiting millennia to do this,” he declared. “I guess this is my lucky night.”

“Do what?” I demanded, my eyes switching between him and Michael.

The man gestured to Michael. “Kill this archangel, of course.”

For some reason Michael was still on the ground. “Michael, get up,” I hissed.

“It’s going to take him a while before he can do that,” the man informed me.

“Who are you?” I asked, wondering how long ‘a while’ was.

Cheryl works in an office by day. By night she leads a (not-so) secret life DJing, and throughout it all, is constantly scribbling away as the plot bunnies demand constant attention.

Her first novel was written when she should have been revising for her GCSEs. While it is unlikely to ever see the light of day, it was the start of long relationship with the evil plot bunnies of doom.

A need to do more than just one subject led her to the University of Hull, where she graduated with an honours degree in American Studies. For the third year of the four year degree, she was able to call Baton Rouge home. Since then, Louisiana has claimed a large chunk of her heart, and remains a place she will always consider home.

When not transcribing the stories of the angels and archangels, working, or DJing, she is at the beck and call of three cats – all of whom rank higher in the household than she does.